


Battle Dressing

by Kingbird



Series: Threads of Fate [4]
Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, Warcraft III, World of Warcraft
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, except its not really a ‘yay’ situation, kael is less awkward in this one, we’ve finally gotten to Lordaeron, yaaaaay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:20:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27338563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kingbird/pseuds/Kingbird
Summary: The night before he leaves, he dreams.He dreams of running, of being hunted, of something singing through his veins and crackling above the looming prison of the trees like a storm. High above, a raven croaks and caws its warning until he awakes.Kael'thas must keep his word to Lor'themar, no matter what, even if it means leaving Rommath behind. It's not just his honor at stake here, but the lives of Quel'thalas's wayward rangers.
Relationships: Rommath/Kael'thas Sunstrider
Series: Threads of Fate [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1976062
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ohh and I know I am a coward for skipping the discussion between Kael and Illidan, but I haven't gotten the best handle on writing the big guy yet. We'll get there, though! 
> 
> I do have a [twitter](https://twitter.com/sheikahbird) if you would like to follow me for art and updates and such!

The night before he leaves, he dreams. 

He dreams of a forest, verdant and deep, steeped in moonlight and shadow. No matter how ageless, it seems a far cry from something else he can’t even put a name to. 

He dreams of amber-gold eyes in the trees that should only reflect the blank animal-soul of all beasts, but instead glare back at him with unnatural judgment and revulsion. 

He dreams of running, of being hunted, of something singing through his veins and crackling above the looming prison of the trees like a storm. High above, a raven croaks and caws its warning until he awakes. 

The false dawn of “morning” in the Outlands is off-putting enough without a true sunrise, but Kael is struck with distraction and restlessness enough that he barely has the wherewithal to say goodbye to Rommath. Poor Rommath. 

He finally pulls himself together enough to wrap his friend in a real hug, which is returned, tightly, despite their spectators. Kael cannot really remember the last time his advisor wasn’t a call or teleport away, and it scares him more than it probably should. 

The others coming are mostly all Sin’dorei also, but it was ruled that despite their familiarity with each other, both the broken Draenei and the distinctive naga would only cause problems if Kael’s entourage were discovered by Garithos’s men. A few demon hunter Illidari stand out also, but their cloaks and a few spells hide the Fel well enough it’s less of a concern. And more prudent; for if the Legion had spread further in Kael’thas’s absence, it was possible that they would be hunted on Azeroth as well. 

At this thought, Kael’s bright blue eyes traveled up the spires of the Temple to where he knew Illidan was sulking despite being told repeatedly to remain under shelter while he healed. Vashj had spoken truly… the proud kal’dorei was grievously injured in body and in spirit. Still, Illidan had given his blessing and they were parting on good terms. Kael hoped to return with good news and more supplies both for the Lord and his ragtag band. It was the least he could do for what he had been promised. 

Taking a breath, Kael’thas nodded to himself and straightened his spine. He would have to leave all hesitation behind. Whatever was on Azeroth- be it the threat of the hostile Alliance or the Legion or the feral Scourge set loose after Arthas’s near loss… it wasn’t going to be easy. 

He promised Rommath (again) that he would be careful and return straight away, within a few days. And then the rift in space was opened, the magic crackling through the air with electric strength, bringing all the memory of his dreams back with it. Sobered and somber, Kael signaled his company, and they stepped through. 

Silverpine, as he remembered it, had been a young forest, often pruned and tended by the dwarven, human and elven people who passed through and inhabited it. It was a lush place, packed with fern and moss and jutting redwood pines growing around and among equally sharp-edged protrusions of stone. Legend held that some gargantuan fight between the powers of old had left this rubble around, and it was hard to argue with once the pattern was perceived from above. 

And almost in the heart of that collision had been the sprawling city of Lordaeron. Kael’thas used to mock his father when Anasterian went on again about how only a few millennia ago, humans had been barely capable of striking fire from stone. All Kael could see was how they had been when he lived among them. For all the inelegance of their cities, Kael had held a certain fondness for their overly-harsh angles, choosing instead to see where they had attempted to soften the haphazard planning of their city, decorating with lattice-work walls to let in the fresh air with none of the heat, or the colors they stained rooftop and doorway alike with, using the porous nature of rough wood be a boon, not a weakness. 

Silverpine and Lordaeron had always teemed with life, it seemed, from the smallest woodland plant to the most sprawling of human cities, and now… and now…. something evil had fallen over it, the touch of Arthas that reminded Kael too keenly of the gloom that had fallen over vast stretches of Eversong also. For about an hour after they crossed the portal, no one went far. Kael was not experienced in military manners, but common sense said to look before one leaped. 

The demon hunters had slipped away to move among the tree branches, and the magi worked their spells to fortify a radius around the company. Both reported the sensation of being watched, the presence of much necromancy… and the subtle tang of Fel in the air. All of it unsettled Kael’thas, but they needed to see regardless of what awaited them. Whether there were Farstriders to be rescued or not, their families deserved an answer. And this wood deserved a measure of peace if it could be granted. Once the scouts regrouped, they began their way along the broken, torn up road that led to Lordaeron. 

However far they went in, the lighting did not change. A foul mist had settled over everything, reeking of death and rot, and it was not worth the effort the mages would have to go through to dispel. It cloyed the air to any other scent though, dangerously robbing the group of elves of one of their senses. Kael’thas remained on high alert, not sure if he was truly seeing eyes in the shadows of the sickly pines or if it was his dream still haunting his thoughts. 

As they moved on however, suddenly one of the demon hunters paused, and the whole group stopped with him, suddenly on high alert. The Kal’dorei was on high alert, ears pricking. Despite the blindfold, Kael could clearly see the flicker of fel as the man leveled his eerie stare over the area, trying to pierce through the noxious mist. “A battle,” He said. 

“Or what is left of one,” Another Illidari agreed, “But it should hold the answers you seek, Prince Kael’thas,” She said, turning her head just so towards him, and added, “I hear Thalassian.” 

“Then let us push forwards,” Kael’thas replied instantly, knowing well that he sounded desperate and exhausted both. Perhaps it had been unwise to pursue this so quickly after their defeat at Icecrown. He flagged in mind and body, and he couldn’t imagine it was any easier for the soldiers. And yet none of them complained, the group surging forwards without hesitation. 

They cleared the mist to some degree as the high walls of Lordaeron soared out of them. But like the forest, they too were changed. Corpses hung from the battlements. Crows and other scavengers clouded the sky- along with bats and spirits… and dragonhawks. And yet still with the thinning of the dense fog, the reality of what they had actually been only faintly smelling hit them like a wall in and of itself- sulfur and brimstone, death, necromancy, suffering- the reek of demon and ghoul both. 

One of his soldiers swore, and now it was worth the rune to completely deaden the sense of smell, otherwise, it was going to be hard to breathe. 

The once clear canals and moats of the city were absolutely festering with death and some oil-slick substance that glowed eerie green and threaded through the water like ink, spreading from some terrible epicenter. All around them as they pushed through the dying city were the telltale signs of battle upon battle; dead humans, dead demons, dead elves, all in varying states of decay. Ghosts flickered on the edge of everyone’s eyesight. 

The first rattle and clang of near movement had even the experienced Illidari swinging around dramatically- and two humans charged through a side corridor, stopping in their tracks at the sight of the Elves- and the prince safely thronged in their midst. 

The reactions were identical from both- there was a shout first from one of the men, and an enraged snarl followed from one of the elves. It was unmistakably some of Garithos’s command, by their tabard and their banner which one of them carried. But even as the group of elves thronged out to attack or defend, there was a fiery roar and a rush of heat- 

A demon crashed between the groups, unfurling its wings and screaming, clawing at the arrows which bristled from their shoulder. As it caught sight of the humans and elves it had fallen between it roared, gathering itself up for attack also.

“Kill the demon!” Kael called, “Ignore the humans!” And even as he said it, imps spilled from another corridor, cackling and shrieking at the sight of new creatures to torment. In an instant, both groups had to completely forget their quarrel to deal with the monsters. 

“There must be a portal nearby!” Snarled one of the Hunters- for even as the larger creature fell between the Illidari and the magi, they all caught sight of a golem-like monstrosity attacking from a few streets over. 

“Find it!” Kael’thas ordered over the din, and with that two of the Illidari took off in a direction. 

“We follow!” He called to the rest, and they tore their way through the imps in the direction that the Demon Hunters had gone. As they ran, Kael glimpsed people up on the roofs and broken down walls, never getting a good look at them- and yet they never attacked, and he had so many other things to worry about... Finally, they spilled into a courtyard, where the massive demon of fel-fire and stone towered. Behind it, Kael could just barely see the vile green edges of a portal; a tear in the very fabric of the world. 

He caught sight of the humans around its legs as a hail of arrows descended from the rooftops. Most arrows found their marks, scouring chunks of rubble and stone off of the creature, exploding in shimmer rain of arcane or something far more dark and shadowy. It tried to lunge forwards at the archers, but it was mired in warriors with long steel weapons that they dug mercilessly into the stone, drawing thick green ichor that smoked as it splattered and seeped from the monster. 

Their first two demon hunters swept in from the sides, staying out of the way of the deadly arrows, their glaives flashing out once-twice-thrice-! And as Kael’s company formed up to scatter the smaller demons, the monstrosity fell beneath their combined onslaught. 

As the last roars of infernal fire guttered away, Kael’thas realized that silence was beginning to descend over the city, punctuated only by a wail or the sounds of the injury, and the occasional thundering, rumbling boom as war-torn structures collapsed in the aftermath. 

Something staggered from a pile of bodies, and Kael’s Sin’dorei at once brought their weapons to bear- and were immediately halted by a sharp, clear command in Thalassian. They paused, startled, and that moment was all a shadowy figure needed to separate itself from the other archers on the rooftops, gracefully descending to kneel in front of the obviously undead human who stumbled forward another step. 

Kael took in a breath to shout a warning, expecting the undead creature to attack and claw at the archer’s face… and the warning died on his throat. 

The ensuing sound was a sob, broken and unmistakable, “What have I done? What did I do?” Even as they were wrapped fiercely into an embrace. Kael’thas stood, rooted to the spot and speechless as the rest of his group. Even the Illidari were looking over the scene with suspicious surprise. The only people who didn’t look startled were the group of humans who were clustering closer and closer together, not seeming fearful at all... 

More of the archers got down from the roof, stepping out of the shadows of the walls to comfort the undead woman. One of the soldiers spat, his expression clear disgust. 

Kael’thas himself could not look away as the bowmen came more into the dim, smoky light. Their hoods were up, their cloaks black or stained with ash, but there was no mistaking them at all. As poignant as the sorrow was in that moment, for whatever it was the undead human remembered of her time as a monster, Kael’thas’s face slowly lit with joy and understanding, even as it dawned on the others who they were looking at. 

No matter how soot-stained or bloodied they were, no matter how grimly they clung to each other and the undead, no matter how dark their cloaks or how steadfastly they ignore the prince and his company- there was no mistaking the long, elegant sweep of ears from their deep-cowled hoods. 

Kael’thas had found his lost Farstriders.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alright Kael, you found the Farstriders! Now, I wonder what they found....?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally this was going to be a separate work, but I messed up the tags when I first posted this AND i somehow repeated a title (I had this originally as Pennon which is too much like Pennant). So. Now this is chapter 2 of battle dressing.

As much as he wants to ask the Farstriders, Kael’thas waits. The undead woman has been helped to her feet, where the elves quietly talk to her in murmurs too quiet to reach his ears, but the tones are soothing. Someone has taken off their dark cloak and put it around her shoulders. They’ve practically hidden the skeletal person from view, sheltering them from the dark looks of the humans across the courtyard. None of the rangers seem surprised at the turn of events; they knew exactly what to do. It went beyond the adaptability of the field. 

Kael’s troops shift restlessly behind him, but the two Illidari from earlier have already begun to scavenge around the corpse of their kill, drawing more looks from the human soldiers. Kael watches the tension between them warily. After a moment, he signals for the group behind him to stand down. Weapons are cleaned and sheathed, a quiet murmur starts up behind him. Kael will wait until the Rangers feel their charge is safe, and only then approach. Right now, he’s not uncertain that they won’t snap into protective formation around her. 

Unfortunately, the humans are not so perceptive… or they simply don’t care. “Archers,” Snaps one; a human in fancier armor than the others, lacking a helmet. He carries a battered spear with the sad remnants of a war banner clinging to the pole. A guard captain, perhaps, “You’ve been ordered to regroup in the main courtyard by the Banshee.” 

As predicted, when he steps a little closer the Rangers shift their stances in kind. He sees more than a few angle back their ears at the dismissive tone and insultingly canted words. Kael’thas is interested in what that could mean, but a spark of anger is smoking out his curiosity and hope. Garithos has learned nothing from Kael’s embarrassing escape from the dungeons. The rangers closest to the woman have drawn up protectively around her, the others have all turned slightly to look at the clump of humans. Now Kael sees in the shadows of their hoods, some eyes gleam an eerie shade of crimson rather than familiar reflections of green, blue, and white. 

“I am aware. We will move,” Says the captain, her crimson eyes flashing, “When Lynn is ready to move.” Her tone brooks no argument. The human sneers in response and Kael’thas steps forwards protectively. Yes, he realizes. Now he is angry. Or maybe he has been this entire time. He doesn’t care what is going on with the Farstriders, this guard captain has no right to speak to them that way. 

“As for you,” The Captain says, daring to raise his chin and address Kael’thas so boldly despite the blood elf’s clear irritation, “You’ve got a lot of nerve showing back up here, traitor. You’re lucky you managed to help us this time. Clear out while you still can.”

Kael’thas speaks before the last syllable has left the foolish man’s mouth. He steps up, positioning himself in the middle of the group of Farstriders and the troops he’s brought with him, eyes flashing furiously, “I am a Prince, Captain. I will be addressed as such. And you will not presume to order around my Farstriders or my soldiers in such a manner ever again. What you will do,” He begins, raising his voice, and taking another step forwards He is drawing magic to himself, letting it crackle threateningly through the air like the threat of a storm. 

The humans have the good sense to look shaken like they hadn’t expected the previously obedient elf to suddenly resist them, but their eyes are going behind him, to the two throngs of elves who have been once again tensing up, preparing for a fight. Each time a human reaches for their blade, a Farstrider puts an arrow to the strings loosely, or a demon hunter edges forwards slightly. Spears are lowering, shields raising. 

This time… this time the humans are outnumbered, “What you will do, Captain,” Kael’thas continues, slowly coming forwards, his eyes never leaving the little man who has already begun to sink down a little, realizing the position he is in, maybe, “Is escort me and my company to this rendezvous. If Grand-Marshal Garithos is here…. I would have words with him.” Kael has come within two feet of the captain. His men have admirably not stepped back, but he can already tell they don’t have the nerve to push Kael back either. Not with the elves at his back, watching, waiting. The farstriders seem almost eager. Kael wonders how long they’ve had to put up with this for the sake of pushing out the demons. 

Well, no more. He stares hard at the dark-haired human, noting pitilessly the flecks of silver in his hair and the lines of age forming on his face; he has been fighting a long time in just this battle alone, his troops are tired. Kael’s troops are ageless, experienced beyond their seasons, and haven’t been fighting for their lives in this stinking, wretched city for who knows how long. 

“....As you say, Prince Kael’thas,” The man grits out, and Kael immediately blinks, breaking his glare and stepping back. 

He only gestures, a clear indication of ‘After you’, and it vindictively brings the young prince a small amount of glee to see the resentment cross the older man’s face. 

“Sunsinger, Morningbloom, remain with the Farstriders. Provide them with whatever aid they need.” Kael instructed two of the healers, “The rest of you, let us go.” 

And with that, the elves part company again; Kael is hoping for the last time. It is a great risk to venture headlong into the unknown with no idea of what is going on. He has some theories, but they are dangerous to think of or speak aloud. But as they make their way through Lordaeron’s ruined streets the more he realizes how correct he might be. 

He catches sight of warriors, at passing glance human, and on closer inspection not, hunched and warped, ribs jutting through skin, spines visible on their backs, and their eyes glow. But it is no longer the uniform cerulean that Kael’thas had grown accustomed to when fighting the scourge; the undead that watch he and his unwilling human guides are of every shade and hue. Some are staggering through the streets, sobbing, others are clearly heading the same way they are, stopping only to collect other survivors. 

The humans guiding Kael’thas occasionally tense or jump at the lone, only semi-aware individuals but seem to be steadfastly ignoring the undead troops that are ahead of and behind them. Kael catches sight, once or twice of shadows on the roofs again, and is relieved to know that at least some of the Rangers are catching up or aware of their presence. 

Here as they come to the heart of the city, Kael can still hear pockets of combat. But it is clear who the victor is. Before the Antechamber, Kael feels more than hears the death of some greater demon, and the demon hunters move up the ranks just behind him in response, their weapons drawn. 

They round a corner, an archway opening into a central hub, lined with cobblestones once smooth, now shattered. In the middle are three figures. 

One, to Kael’s disgust, is none other than Garithos, sitting atop his white warhorse, who prances backward at the second figure. 

His Illidari have now come to form a semi-circle around him, glaring with open hostility at the dread lord who glares back. A massive creature, one cloven hoof still rests on the smoldering remains of what had to have been another dread lord. He flares his wings threateningly at their intrusion. But despite the drama of it, Kael’thas’s gaze fixes last on the smallest person there. 

She stands behind both Garithos and the Dreadlord, dark-hooded and cloaked as the other Rangers. She is wreathed in shadow, it roils around her like serpents. Red eyes flick dispassionately from the human to the Dreadlord… and then to the approaching crowd of soldiers, settling over the shoulder of the captain and fixing with intensity on Kael’thas. She is unmistakable despite everything; the wraith-like quality of her form, the blaze of crimson eyes- she is Sylvanas Windrunner. 

“Thank you for your service, Captain,” Kael’thas says, summoning every ounce of resolve that he has to not let his voice shake or break before the scene in front of him, he hopes he doesn’t look intimidated. There’s a demon hunter on one side of him, and Crimsonsun, finally, making his presence known on the other. He has his people with him. He is doing his best not to let himself falter with relief or exhaustion, not to buckle into his frustration and anger at everything, the uncertainty which plagues every thought, every action. He owes them all this much. And yet he knows so little of what is happening here that he teeters on the brink of breaking down.

“You!” Garithos thunders, his face going from fascinating shades of red to purple with rage. The dreadlord sneers in Kael’s direction as well, his black eyes roving over the band of sin’dorei- and lingering too long on the taller, cloaked, and glamoured members of the band who are the Illidari. Kael doubts that the magic is fooling a powerful creature like that. Sylvanas’s expression is harder to read, but aside from a flicker of annoyance at Garithos’s shout, the corrupted elf does not move or react. Her gaze is measuring, calculating this turn of events. 

“Be wary, Dark Lady,” The demon rumbles, his wings sweeping out as he stepped over and down the body of the other Dreadlord, even as it began to dissipate. “Those elves with your Prince carry the marks of one of the Legion’s most terrible servants- the Betrayer himself,” the demon rumbles. At this, most of the Illidari bristle, some dropping into a crouch as though to spring. Kael’thas puts out his hand somewhat, looking sharply over his shoulder to hold them back. 

Above and around them, the dark rangers have returned also. In the shadows and arches of every building, the eyes of the willful undead gleam, and in the windows of the looming towers and parapets, Kael can see ghostly glows as though spirits themselves wend and wind their way through the dilapidated structures. Kael’thas knows who his friends and enemies are; but he doesn’t want to make a foe of all of them. 

“You are one to speak of treachery, Varimathras,” The hunter at his shoulder speaks; Irrnar Ravensong, a little less testy and temperamental than many of the other Illidari, whose fel blood seems to have not stoked the flames of his anger into an inferno at present. His tone is derisive, but calm, “Not only is it forbidden for you to kill your own kind; I wonder where you sent his soul afterward? Surely your new Dark Lady knows?” 

Sylvanas looks slowly back to the demon apparently in her service, her expression still unreadable. Perhaps it is the mist, the transparency of her form that makes it so. 

“What are you prattling on about, mongrel?” The dreadlord sneers, coming forwards another step. 

“Finish your business elsewhere!” A voice thunders, and at once, three gazes have locked once more onto Garithos. Kael’thas, without quite meaning to finally break his collected facade, baring his teeth, his ears flattening in response to the human’s guttural, furious roaring. “Now I want you wretched animals out of my city before I-“

“Kill him too,” Sylvanas finally speaks, her voice cutting and roiling with disgust. 

“Gladly,” The Demon responds, raising his hands to cast. 

Kael’thas is faster; far faster by a mile, and blue gold flames at once latch onto Garithos’s overly ornate armor and finery, before roaring into an inferno almost too bright to look at, snapping embers of violet runes and downy ash before the man is simply gone. 

The shadows on the wall fall upon Garithos’s men as they scatter and try to flee back the way they came. Most don’t even make it out of the courtyard, and Kael has no doubt any will leave the ruins of the city. He lets out a sound of cruel satisfaction, then brings his bright eyes back to Varimathras, who is watching him with poorly concealed rage, and Sylvanas who looks… thoughtful. 

And then her face split into a sharp-toothed grin. She turned away from them, and the ghouls that have fallen on Garithos’s charred husk, spreading her arms and raising her voice to the undead who remained nearby, “The capital city is ours, but we are no longer part of the Scourge. From here on out, we shall be known as the Forsaken!” They met her proclamation with shouts of agreement, eerie echoing cries of joy and ferocity. Their victory had been hard-won, clawed from the hands of nothing, but they were free.

As the sound traveled through the city, one of the rangers departed from her lofty perch, slipping up to Sylvanas’s side. The taller elf turned and leaned down for a short, whispered conversation. The crowd was breaking up, naturally, though Kael’s people still stood on high alert. More than a few eyes were on the ghouls who had come to make short work of what remained of the humans that had been killed. Kael’s unease only grew. Varimathras had not yet broken his glare from the prince, and Kael didn’t let his guard down either. They could easily be next. 

Sylvanas had half turned as the Ranger at her side continued speaking in low tones, drowned out from this distance by the voices echoing off stone. The ghostly elf’s bright eyes were narrowing in the direction of Varimathras and Kael’thas both. Finally, the other woman stepped back, bowing slightly before seemingly vanishing into the darkness altogether. 

“We will make our own way in this world, demon,” Her tone is a harsh rebuke. Her walk forward is the rolling gait of a forest cat, all predator and grace, as she circles the winged demon, “And we will slaughter anyone who stands in our way.” The demon towers over her, but it barely matters. Her back is to Kael now, and the blood elf clearly sees the way that Varimathras shrinks back from her as though cowed, “Am I perfectly clear?” She asks, her voice quiet and threatening. 

“Yes, Banshee Queen,” The demon says, even dipping into a bow. His eyes flash hatefully again in Kael’s direction, and the sin’dorei’s hands tighten to angry fists. 

“Good…” Sylvanas says, stepping away and turning, heading straight for the prince and his entourage now. Despite her threatening aura, Kael feels an odd relief. Whatever had happened to her, she had brought it under control.

“Prince Kael’thas,” She says, “Or is it King now?” Her words are taunting and cruel, and Kael resists the urge to flinch. She’d never been soft-spoken, but this… he doesn’t have to really wonder where the cruelty is coming from though. Why it’s directed at him, he can only guess with increasingly wild speculation. 

“I am still Prince, Lady Windrunner,” He responds, voice grieved, “My father was King, and that title has passed with him.” 

She stops in front of him, her bright eyes narrowing, “Then… Prince Kael’thas, why are you here?” Her lips curl back into a snarl, and in the ghostly pallor of her face, the sharp flash of her teeth is all too evident, as though those fangs are the only tangible part of her. “Did the Legion send you as Varimathras thinks?” 

“No,” Kael says, unable to help the curtness which enters his voice, and notes that her lips tick upwards into an amused smirk at his loss of temper, “And if Varimathras knows about where my new friends have come from, then I believe he is hiding much from you, Sylvanas.” 

The dreadlord behind Sylvanas sneers at Kael’thas, a rumble of a reply clearly starting to form… but Windrunner raised her hand sharply, and the Dreadlord backed down, resentment creasing his face as he turned to continue speaking to the throng of Farstriders and undead- Forsaken- warriors in front of him. 

“But… that’s not why I came here.” The Prince says, taking a breath to steady himself, to reign in his anger and frustration as best as he can. After all this time, after everything he’d been through to get here- here he is. He can see his Farstriders just beyond and silhouetted in the dim lighting of the setting sun. And in front of him is the friend he had so sorely missed, despite everything, despite how much she seemed to have changed in such a short time. 

He reaches, and pulls a ring off of one of his slender fingers, and takes the last few steps forwards to bridge the gap between them. The ring rests in the palm of his hand, inlaid with enamel and precious stone, careful whorls that could be stylized feathers or curls of wind and cloud. It had once been beautiful, delicate light gold and bright opalescent whites and blues. Now it had been stained with ash and fired in the coals of Quel’thalas’s destruction; it left a dark patina over it all. 

And yet still Sylvanas’s eyes were trained and fixed on it, recognizing the ring easily- it was hers. A band granted to her on the day of her promotion to Ranger-General, just some months after her mother had died, and it had been given to her by none other than the grimy, battered Prince that stood before her now, something earnest and pleading on his face. He’d been so much younger then, struck by something of hero-worship for the newly mantled Ranger-General who had once been his over-glorified babysitter in his even younger days. 

Grief passed Sylvanas’s features then, at the agonizing memory of younger, golden days, and her chest suddenly keenly and coldly ached. 

“I came here because you were missing,” He said, “And your Farstriders with you, and we could not just leave any of you to whatever fate had befallen you,” Kael’thas continued. He still had the same expression she remembered, hopeful, and pleading both, even though now he was obviously trying to curb his own expectations. He was no stranger to failure now, unlike his more innocent days. “And you are my friend, and I want to help you.” He finished, still offering the ring, though Sylvanas had made no movement to take it back. 

Her brows furrowed, and at least she truly looked at him, searched his face, and tried to look past the little golden-haired boy who had taken it upon himself to harass her suitors as a good brother should do, when Lirath was no longer around to do so. She tried to see a conniving prince who had fallen victim to the demons, and she could not. 

“You may yet be of some use to me then, Kael’thas,” She says, pushing aside her grief with callous words, and ignoring the flicker of hurt that spans his features. She takes a small step back, and Kael’thas only keeps his hand extended a moment more before he slowly begins to take it back, looking troubled and concerned; anxious even, for what her words could mean. 

“I could use your help for a task.” Says the Banshee Queen, “If your people can be trusted to their own devices. There is something I would like you to do.” 

“....I ….. Yes. Of course, they can. And if there is any way we could be of help, we would be glad… earlier I saw someone who seemed to be… free of Arthas’s thrall. I am sure they could use the attention of healers, or better shelter.” Kael’thas’s voice gained strength and confidence again as he spoke. Despite her having rebuffed him, he still offered his assistance. Sylvanas resisted the urge to sigh at his naivety, feeling protective despite herself. 

“They may offer as much as they wish,” She says, as though it doesn’t matter to her, but she still signaled for some of her rangers to come forward, and they did almost eagerly, no doubt excited to speak again with the other Farstriders and familiar faces in Kael’thas’s company. 

“Come,” She says to Kael’thas, “What I require is this way. Varimathras!” Sylvanas calls, and Kael grimaces for a moment, hoping the dreadlord is not going to be going with them, “Stay out of the way of our guests. I’d hate for there to be any fighting.” 

The dreadlord does not reply, but bows again, and Kael sighs in relief. Despite his misgivings, the Prince barely hesitated to follow Sylvanas, leaving the protection of his party behind, and praying that his trust was not misplaced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :3c 
> 
> I will take this opportunity to say that I love Sylvanas a ton and I hope that I do her some justice in this rewrite. I have her here being more of an older sister to Kael'thas; he'd be closer to Vereesa's age.


End file.
